


Non-Violent Touching

by redhotkittypepper



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, My first fic, deadpool humor, nothing sexy here, post crime-fighting bonding, severed limbs (not graphic), sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redhotkittypepper/pseuds/redhotkittypepper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spidey and Deadpool on a rooftop on a cold night. Deadpool lost his arm, Spidey helps him reattach it. A little bit slashy--nothing sexy, though. My first fic--have mercy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Non-Violent Touching

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first fic...Ever. Keep that in mind. Comments welcome, lemme know what you think. It's not so sexy this time...but maybe I'll save that for future fics. Hope you enjoy.

There were times when Peter forgot his issues with Deadpool. Sitting on the rooftop one March night—Peter shivering, Wade slowly reattaching his arm after having it lynched under a subway—it was the easiest thing in the world to stare a little too long, and shimmy just a little too close. Peter always craved closeness after a fight—any kind of touch that didn’t mean to kill him. Not that Deadpool was the poster boy for non-violent touching but he’d shown up mid-fight, spinning his katanas and grinning like a madman, and mopped the floor (well, short of losing his arm) with the thugs Peter had cornered in the subway station; and when he’d stuck around afterward, it wasn’t like Peter was going to tell him to get lost—the guy had lost an arm for him, the least he could do was hang around until he was back on his feet.  
Peter leaned in. The gore didn’t faze him much. He’d seen Deadpool get out of worse scrapes and the assassin was taking the loss of his limb rather calmly. He held the lifeless arm against his shoulder socket and clicked his tongue, chatting on and off about where they should get food afterward, waiting for the bone and ligaments to knit back together.  
“Does it hurt?”  
“Meh.” Deadpool shrugged—the gesture was made somewhat grotesque as the severed socket made a wet sound and the bone dropped out onto the concrete. “Oh, fuck.”  
Peter winced. Deadpool held what remained of his severed arm in one hand and looked up at Peter. His mask was rolled up over his nose and he was grinning sheepishly.  
“You mind grabbing that for me?” he said, nodding to the bloody lump of muscle and bone at his hip.  
“Uh,” Peter said.  
Deadpool laughed. “Dude, your face. Oh, God. Here, hold my arm.”  
Peter held his arm.  
“So, uh, this doesn’t bother you?” Peter said.  
Deadpool looked up from refitting his shoulder. “Nope.” He gestured for his arm but Peter waved him off, moving to Deadpool’s right, and kneeling down.  
“Here, guide it in and I’ll hold it.”  
“Mm, sounds dirty.”  
“Would you fuck off? I’m reattaching your arm.”  
“Is that what they call it these days?”  
Behind his bravado, Peter heard a tension in his voice and glimpsed a tightness in his jaw. He was in pain, despite what he said. Peter set his teeth and gripped Deadpool’s lifeless bicep. “Okay, ready?”  
Deadpool drew a big breath. “Ooh, I don’t know, it’s so big.”  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Wade.”  
“Okay, okay. Just do it, Petey.”  
With a soft squishing noise and the grind of bone on bone, Peter managed to line up the broken pieces of Deadpool’s arm and held it tightly.  
“How long does this usually take?”  
Deadpool winced. “Not long. Maybe a few minutes.”  
“How’s it feel now?”  
“I dunno. The same. I think the bone is attached, it’ll take a while for the muscles to catch up…I can hold it now, I mean, if you’re bored or if you need to go. I’ll be fine.”  
Peter frowned at Deadpool’s shoulder, and chewed his lip. “I don’t mind staying.”  
The night was getting colder and wind whipped across the rooftops; Peter tried to keep still, tried not to shiver too violently and jostle Deadpool’s freshly knit bone. They sat in silence, not uncomfortable but certainly unusual, for Deadpool, at least.  
Deadpool stared at his hands, slowly flexing his fingers as the blood flowed back into them. Peter could tell he was tired by the set of his mouth and wondered, sleepily, how long he’d been able to that. He couldn’t even tell his Aunt May’s feelings from her face, let alone just her chin. We’re so similar. That’s all. It’s like having a brother…a manic, violent, psychotic, perverted brother…Peter blinked. It was too late to think about that too hard, so he held Deadpool’s arm tighter and kept his eyes open and his mind safe in the revolving door of school and work and crime-fighting.  
After a while, Deadpool groaned and Peter released his arm. “Better?”  
“Much.”Deadpool dropped his chin and nuzzled Peter’s hair weakly. “Much obliged, baby boy.”  
Peter didn’t lean in but neither did he push Deadpool away. He just dropped back on his heels and let Deadpool’s head rest on his shoulder. They stayed like that—half sleeping, rocking back and forth slightly. Deadpool hummed a little under his breath but Peter couldn’t make out the song. It sounded like something Peter had heard as a child, but all he could remember was that it made him very sad.  
“You’re shivering,” Deadpool muttered against Peter’s neck. “You should go home.”  
Peter sighed, his breath turning to clouds before him. “I don’t mind staying.”

They stayed while cars came and went far below them, sirens wailed—red and blue glittering on the rain wet pavement—and the sound of people walking, shouting, laughing, crying, living died down. Then Deadpool lifted his head off of Peter’s shoulder and pulled is mask off his nose and down over his chin. He ran a hand through Peter’s hair then reached over and drew Spiderman’s mask down over Peter’s face.  
“Give me a lift?”  
“I guess.” Peter adjusted his web guns. Deadpool hoisted himself onto Peter's back, wrapping his arm and legs around Peter’s body. “Hold on tight. I really don’t feel like scraping you off the pavement twice in one night.”  
“Oh, Spidey.” he said into Peter’s ear. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”  
They leapt off the building, swinging cleanly through the chilly night air. Everywhere Deadpool touched him Peter was pleasantly warm. Warm and close and definitely not trying to kill him—which was all either one of them could ask for, really.


End file.
